


Lost Enough [ON HOLD]

by SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-13 18:24:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14753978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash/pseuds/SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash
Summary: Junior year has just begun, and MJ a bit pleased. She may act like she hates school, and she does regularly protest the corruption of the education system, but going to school gives her something to focus on... And occasionally, someone, though she would not admit it. Slowly but surely, MJ finds herself drifting closer to Ned Leeds and Peter Parker outside of decathlon, even though they’re total losers and she definitely isn’t at all flattered when they start inviting her to things. MJ is hoping that maybe this friendship will finally strangle the lingering obsession thing she’s had for Peter for a while, but it only seems to intensify as the pair forms a fairly unlikely and dysfunctional friendship. However, MJ’s whole world is turned upside down when she manages to catch Spider-Man off guard-- and maybe blackmails him a little. With the promise of an exclusive interview after Spider-Man manages to expose the cause of a series of child abductions, MJ finds herself more involved in the superhero-ing than either of them expected. But they can’t continue this treacherous game forever without someone getting hurt, especially with MJ’s suspicions about Spider-Man’s identity becoming stronger.[THIS WORK IS ON HOLD]





	1. A Bit of Well-Intentioned Blackmail

**Song of the Chapter: "[Perfect Places](https://open.spotify.com/track/1qXjolYMICsnISl8xZAbA2)" by Lorde**

* * *

 

MJ is definitely not looking forward to seeing Peter Parker.

She first decides this at least a week before it is actually time to go back to school, which isn’t premature, she tries to tell herself. She is reminded about school, really reminded when she looks up and realizes the kid who is ordering attends Midtown, a year below her. MJ explores the thought as she is scribbling his name onto a caramel macchiato in the tiny coffee shop where she works. Where she is absolutely not thinking about what it will be like to see Peter Parker after the summer holiday, she reminds herself as she hands the drink over the petite blonde boy. He mutters a “thanks” without looking twice at her, and the kid isn’t even at his table before he starts Instagramming it.

MJ tugs a damp rag from the waist of her black apron and begins to wipe down the counter. “Missed a spot, Jones,” teases Henry, the tall redhead that somehow always seems to be working the same shift as her. She found his constant, playful energy annoying when she first met him, but now- wait, nope, still just as annoying. “It’s tiny, but it’s there.”

“You just quoted everyone who’s ever seen what’s in your pants,” she retorts, but there is a little grin on her face as she hears him snort in laughter. She makes sure she gets the spot as she lets herself get lost in thought against the café’s Indie music.

It would be stupid to be excited when it is just another school year where everything is going to be exactly the same, she reasons as she moves to go scrub down some of the booths. She will read several feet away from Parker and Leeds at the lunch table while they nerd out over something, she will sit in the back of the classrooms and correct the teachers, she will drive the decathlon team like a team of hormone-crazed, easily distracted sled dogs so that they maintain their winning streak. 

MJ does not mind her school routine, for what it’s worth. She thinks the education system is about as logical as Sarah Palin on bath salts, but going to school is necessary and it is its own kind of escape. It means MJ does not have to go home and sit in the middle of a dark apartment going over which bills needs to be paid, it means she has something to do on the nights when her body refuses to even pretend it is going to sleep. It gives her something to do other than focus on the nightmares when she wakes up at 2 AM.

“Hey, Jones, mind taking that group for me?” Henry hums as he gestures to a group of tiny middle-school students. They’re jabbering away, clearly excited to Snapchat drinks bought with their parents’ money. Wordlessly, MJ slides behind the counter and begins taking orders, losing herself in the mundane but relaxing rhythm.

Basically, MJ likes school because it gives her some semblance of stability. And Parker is not going to change that, she reminds herself as she pours a cup of cold brew.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She doesn’t give a damn if it’s the first day of school, MJ decides as she pulls on the dark jacket she wears almost every other day. Today, it is layered over a printed tee and her favorite pair of jeans, the ones that are the oldest but also the most comfortable. Her fingers move to check her ponytail for any bumps, the same way she does every day. MJ considers trying to get a few more of her curls out of her face, but ultimately gives up; if Flash harasses her about her hair again, she will just tell him that she lets it fall in her eyes so that she doesn’t have to look at his overbite during decathlon practice.

MJ grabs her bag and the volume of _Wieland_ that is laying on her desk and steps out of her room. She is sure to move silently down the apartment hall, stepping over several empty whiskey bottles as if she has done it a thousand times. Mixing with the tinny sound of the morning news from their crappy TV, she can hear her mother’s heavy breathing coming from the sofa in the living room. MJ does not wake her. If she does, she will receive a hungover speech about how hard her mother works and how MJ is a disappointment and as much as MJ would love to miss homeroom, she does not have the energy for it this morning.

It is a precarious dance around the apartment, but it is one MJ is used to. She nearly steps on what she thinks is a Potbelly wrapper, and for a moment her heart stops. But after that, there is nothing eventful as she creeps around the filthy kitchen. MJ grabs an old granola bar that she finds under a wadded up grocery bag on the counter and stuffs it into the pocket of her jacket. She moves to toss the bag into the recycling, but even by the dim light coming through the dusty window, she can tell her mom has carelessly tossed a few beer cans into the garbage can beside the bin. MJ wastes an extra minute or so sifting through the garbage to pick out the cans and then grabs the strings to the garbage bag in the recycling.

Trying to get out of the house with a bag full of what must be two weeks’ worth of recycling proves to be harder than anticipated. As she maneuvers her way, she can’t help but listen to the news. It’s something about Spider-Man catching the mastermind behind several recent car thefts, the sort of thing everyone at Midtown will be talking about today. The newscast has just gone to the obnoxiously overplayed commercial for Stark Industries’ newest phone when MJ reaches the door. Quietly, she steps out the door of her apartment and carefully eases it shut behind her.

MJ files away that quiet victory in her mind as the bag lands with a thud in the recycling bin. Some mornings she can’t physically get out of the apartment without waking her mother, so this little win is a relief. Hey, she takes it where she can get it. 

The walk to school is long, so MJ uses it to pop a beaten-up earbud from her MP3 player into her ear and listen to an eclectic mix of music. She likes some pop, more than she cares to admit. Only when the singer’s voice has some sort of interesting quality to it, of course. This morning, it’s Lorde, with her smoky, raspy alto seeming to propel MJ forward.

MJ walks the less-than-friendly streets with as much confidence as she walks anywhere else. She’s gotten used to walking with authority, mostly by relying on her bad case of RBF and wearing comfortable shoes. Squaring her shoulders finishes it off, and generally, she gets left alone. Still, she has her moments... She can’t help the little smile that she always gives to the neighbors’ pit bull when she walks by. It really isn’t her fault, it’s the studded leather collar that is supposed to make the dog look threatening. Whenever MJ passes, the dog pulls at the chain it’s attached to until MJ has given it a chance to cover her hand with kisses and then roll over for a belly rub.

“Hey there, Killer,” she croons in a voice that no human on earth has heard her use before. She plans on keeping it that way. “How’s my favorite deadly attack dog doing today?”

It has become a habit to come up with increasingly more ridiculous names for the friendly animal. She’s never had a chance to ask the owners- the only times she has ever seen them outside were to take out the trash, and from then rolling papers that spill out of their trash and the way that their car smells whenever she walks past it, she’s pretty sure they’re high most of the time. The dog can’t tell the difference, so MJ just sticks with doing her thing. The dog responds to any name, as long as she says it in the voice, and jumps up to try and lick her face whenever she talks to it.

Today is no different, and she leaves with dog hair on her jeans.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Before she knows it, MJ is almost there- and then she is walking into Midtown High School as a junior for the first time. 

Nothing feels different, really. MJ still knows these hallways and these lockers and more of the overambitious students than she really cares to admit. The only difference is that she received a new locker assignment, schedule, and ID in the mail a few weeks ago. It was easy to commit the schedule and the number to memory, and she has her school ID in her backpack. MJ maneuvers past the long line of students outside the office, mostly freshmen, who have forgotten their ID/schedule/locker number or who are huddling around their friends like lemmings while they fetch theirs. 

Her locker is number 665 (shame, really, she will have to see if whoever is next to her is willing to trade for the sake of the irony), so MJ turns down the hallway where the junior lockers are located. Hers is right, smack-dab in the middle of the left row of lockers, so she turns and moves to open the locker. MJ doesn’t really have much to put in there other than her textbooks, so she slides several of the massive tomes into the smaller locker. She has just shut it when she looks up, and there they are- Leeds and Parker, the dorks from the quiz team who are more a part of this school than MJ will ever be. 

They are talking about something lame (probably computer related, based on the way that Leeds is going on and Parker is only pretending to pay attention, but then she doesn’t notice that) when the brunette looks up, and he makes eye contact with her. She raises an eyebrow quickly to cover the fact that she has been staring and flips open _Wieland,_ hoping to discourage Parker from trying to make conversation. But it is too late, apparently, because he speaks up anyway. 

“Hey, MJ, how was your summer?” His stupid, eager voice is just as dorky as it always has been, damn him. It isn’t really her fault she is obsessed with him, she reasons, not when he talks like that and has those stupid puppy eyes. 

“Read all of the true crime books at the library and finished my thesis on the number of times the Avengers have broken the Sokovia Accords, so fairly productive,” she mutters, not looking up from her book. “Don’t think I’m going to return the question or anything.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Parker hums as he opens the locker next to the one she is leaning against. _Screw him,_ she thinks bitterly. _Wait, no- dammit. “_ So I’ll just tell you that it was pretty good. Ned and I have been studying for decathlon, like, a ton.” 

“Yeah, so you don’t have to, um, murder us or anything,” Ned pipes up, looking at her and clearly trying to hide fear. 

“Jury’s still out on that one,” is her reply as she turns the page in her book, still not looking up. “And Parker, if you flake on me the way you flaked on Liz last year, I will tell Harrington that you are _extremely interested_ in knowing the details of his divorce.” 

“Yeah, okay, point made,” Parker laughs nervously, sharing a significant glance with Ned that is not missed by MJ. “Well... Uh, see you in class.” 

“Only if my luck stays exactly as crappy as it has been my whole life,” she replies, trying to ignore the fact that while she has been talking to them she has read the same sentence four times. She still has not taken in a word. MJ turns the page just to make it seem like she is reading at her normal pace. “Later, losers.” 

That is clearly a signal that it is time for the conversation to end, and Parker and Leeds exchange one more look before Peter shuts his locker. He and Leeds begin to walk away, talking about something quietly. MJ turns back to the sentence she actually needs to read, ignoring the fact that she is struggling more than normal to keep a smirk off of her lips. 

“Hey, Jones, what are you doing outside my locker?” the obnoxious drone of Flash Thompson is what interrupts her now as he opens number 666, looking at her accusingly. How apt. 

This year is going to be a long one.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The first day back goes pretty much exactly how MJ expected it to.

It’s not bad, considering that she does manage to get a pretty good jab in at Flash during decathlon about the ungodly amount of gel in his hair. But Parker ran out during practice, leaving Leeds behind mumbling something about Peter “going to an ophthalmologist appointment at the dentist- wait, no, I mean he has a dentist appointment to get his eyes cleaned-” and MJ glaring at him until he shut up.MJ doesn’t know where he’s going and tries to pretend she doesn’t care, but if this is any indication of how the year is going to go in decathlon then MJ is going to have to have a ~~n exchange of threats~~ discussion with Parker that she doesn’t really feel like having.

This is what MJ is thinking about as she continues on her walk home. One earbud is popped in again, but this time it’s Satie’s Gymnopedies as she scans the nearby houses with her eyes, looking for the pit bull. She has nearly given up on looking for the dog when she catches a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye- something red and blue. She is about to look more closely when she hears voices and the pounding of feet, and her eyes widen. MJ darts into a small the crack between a pair of trash cans as she hears shouting. A group of figures clad in black rushes past. She lingers there for a moment, silent until voices fade.

MJ takes a deep breath and waits a minute longer than necessary. She slowly emerges from her hiding hole, pretending to take a deep breath to calm herself down. If he is watching, he receives no indication that she can tell. He is in the alley across from her. MJ’s head is angled ever-so-slightly in the direction she saw the red go, and she can see it... MJ just barely makes out the figure, hiding in the shadows. She can feel him, looking at her. MJ isn’t stupid; she wants to be a journalist, for God’s sake. She’s figured out that this is their Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man... Now, she just needs to figure out how to get him cornered.

MJ takes a moment to take a deep breath, running a hand to smooth her ponytail down as though she is calming herself down. MJ deviates from her routine, taking out her old smartphone and holding it in a position that hides it from his view. She taps the surface of it as if texting someone, not looking up as she steps into the alleyway where she knows he is lurking. MJ walks slowly as she pretends to continue texting, and the camera app pops up on her phone. Before he knows it, she has pointed it up in his direction and is recording.

“If you move, I’ll shout and they’ll be back here before you can run away.” 

The red suit’s animated white eyes blink at her, and for a minute the figure doesn’t move. Then, the man above her lets out a sharp breath and mutters, “Crap.“


	2. Glorified Morph Suits

**Song of the Chapter: "[You Wouldn't Like Me](https://open.spotify.com/track/5XrpGRTACaYCT7ijWtnUsI)" by Tegan and Sara**

So blackmailing the Spider-Man is a lot easier than it should be.

MJ stares up at the figure above her as he quickly peers from side to side, trying to see if there is any way out of his situation. She can hear him muttering under his breath. MJ focuses on listening, grateful for the particular knack for eavesdropping she possesses as an aspiring journalist. If it were not for her keener than average ears, she would not be able to make out, "Karen, initiate... Voice distortion... Software." 

"Something you'd like to share with the class?" 

The Spider-Man stiffens at the sound of her voice, and his head turns sharply to look at her. 

"Okay, okay, so here's what we're gonna do," the hero begins. His voice is deep, much deeper than it was a moment ago. Granted, MJ could not have recognized much from a single expletive, but the change is drastic enough to be noticeable. 

"What's with the Morgan Freeman thing you've got going on now?" MJ questions, arching an unimpressed eyebrow. 

"Well. it's- wait, I don't sound like Morgan Freeman."

"I hate to break it to you, but you definitely sound like Morgan Freeman." 

"The software wasn't designed to sound like Morgan Freeman!" 

"Hmm, well, maybe I've got it wrong. You'll have to keep talking, maybe read, I dunno, your age, address, secret identity-" 

"Nice try." 

"-the lines of every role played by Morgan Freeman-" 

"Please, say Morgan Freeman one more time." 

"Anything for you, Spider-Boy," MJ retorts. Anyone who does not know MJ would think she is just being standoffish. However, though she does not smile, there is a hint of a smirk on her lips and a glimmer of excitement in her dark irises. 

Her reply seems to catch the Spider-Man off-guard. He blinks several times with those large, animated white eyes, and MJ's amusement only grows. She does not mind the moment to examine the hero further, taking in the suit and the way that the eyes seem to be mirroring whatever facial expressions are underneath. Yeah, the powers are one thing, but the suit is another... It means that Spider-Man somehow has access to extremely advanced tech, or he knows someone who does. 

"You still with me?" she presses him. 

"Huh? Oh, yeah," stammers the hero. She has to admit that the deepness of the voice combined with the hero's sentence structure is a bit strange. MJ decides he must be young, simply based on the way he talks. Another odd thing she notices is that he is always moving-- tapping the wall that he clings to with a finger, at the moment, until he stops in favor of slowly hopping down to stand in front of her. "Alright, so... You can have your interview, okay? I promise. But now is definitely not the time." 

"See, that sounds great, except for the fact that once you leave I have no way of contacting you and you have every means of avoiding me," MJ replies, and there is no joking around now. All banter aside, MJ is a hound dog, and she is closing in on exactly what she wants. She needs a story, and if she is going to get that, she needs him. 

The Spider-Man is making a strange expression, MJ can even tell through the mask. She is sure that if she took it off, she would see a grimace. 

"Right..." he says slowly. "But that isn't going to be an issue, because... Um..." His mind is clearly whirring as he glances around the empty alleyway, almost as if he is turning to the dumpster beside them for ideas. "Oh, right!" 

Before MJ has a chance to protest, her phone is being yanked from her grip by a thin stream of web. A startled, indignant exclamation leaves her lips, but the Spider-Man does not leave with her phone. Instead, he is typing in it-- punching in a number. 

"There," he says, satisfied as he passed the phone back to MJ. She immediately snatches it back and checks to make sure he has not deleted the recording. If he has, she will have to ask one of the Midtown tech geeks to get the files back for her, and it will be quite a hassle to do that and still keep her independent reputation. "The number I put in your phone links to a burner I have. I'll text it within the next few days with a meeting place, alright? I promise. But seriously. This place isn't safe right now, and it's already almost nighttime." 

MJ glances up at the sky, and her eyes widen in surprise. The masked hero is right. It isn't sunset, exactly, but it is the time of day where the sun's light comes down golden from a tilted angle, and shadows are beginning to lengthen. "Shit," she mumbles, brushing aside a lock of hair that is falling in her eyes. "I am gonna be so late for work." 

"Work?" the hero says in surprise, and MJ quickly shoots him a glare. 

"Yeah, I work. We don't all have time to be running around Queens in glorified red morph suits, some of us-" 

_"Glorified red morph suits?"_

"-actually have to pay rent." 

"Well, yeah, but... I mean, you're a kid."

"And yet I'm still taller than you," MJ hummed sweetly, shooting him a faux smile of serenity. "If I don't get a text on the burner in the next three days, I will post the footage online and have it edited into saying some stuff that you don't want the world hearing. I know people."

MJ was surprisingly good at editing video, to say the least. She had a reputation for it around Midtown after a particular video was posted of Principal Morita confessing his undying love for Flash Thompson. The original footage had come from a school news broadcast, but MJ had gotten creative. She would never actually doctor the footage, of course. Editing the footage and publishing it would be circulating false information, and MJ is of the strong opinion that a well-informed electorate is the key to a democracy. However, she is banking on the fact that Spider-Man does not know this.

And she is late, so she is a bit more sadistic than usual. "See ya later, Spider-Child." 

"Spider- _Man_... W-wait, stop!" he exclaims.

MJ had been moving to leave, but she turns around to face him now. "What?"

"Look, this is big. Bigger than it looks, I think. And if you're going to get this story, I'll need your help, okay? I think it's a story that is going to need to be told. But this time, I'm going in alone. No other Avengers. And there are people that I could go to, but I need someone discreet, for help with analytics, all that. And I need to know that you'll back out, for your own safety, if I tell you to." 

"And you're going to trust someone whose name you don't even know like that?" MJ hums, surprised. "Trusting a stranger could get you majorly screwed over someday." 

"But you're not-" he stammers. MJ felt her own eyes widen, and he seems to realize his mistake. 

"Not what?" she says slowly. 

"You're not... Like... That," he finishes lamely. 

"And you should be thankful for that." And then, before the Spider-Man can say anything else, MJ has turned to begin walking away. "Michelle. It's Michelle, Jones."

She leaves the Spider-Man struggling for a comeback in the alleyway. 

* * *

The next day at school, MJ pays much less attention than she usually does, and that is saying something. 

MJ is better at learning independently, so she usually spends class-time reading the material through herself and then waiting for the class to catch up while she sketches or reads her book. Today, however, MJ is clearly spacing out in Chemistry, not even bothering to look over her classwork. Instead, she is taking messy notes in what appears to be a legal pad. No one notices, and she trusts that no one will. They don't, until lunch. 

MJ sits in her usual spot without anything but a bag of almonds in front of her. It is being largely ignored in favor of the notepad, but after a few moments, MJ feels a faint tickle in the back of her mind that tells her something is off, just a little bit, as though the scales of normalcy are slightly askew. It only takes her a few seconds to realize exactly what it is. Every day, MJ sits here while Parker and Leeds jabber about something nerdy and she tunes it out. Today, there isn't anything to tune out, so MJ looks up and finds that her eyes meet immediately with those of Leeds and Parker, both of whom are staring at her like she is currently growing another head. 

"Can I help you?" MJ draws out, giving both a glance that is somewhere between annoyed and expectant as she arches an eyebrow. 

"Well, um, it's just-" Leeds stammers, his eyes wide and fearful. He glances over at Parker, who looks equally flustered. MJ's heart skips a beat as she catches a glimpse of the boy with the messy brown curls and the wide, startled eyes. 

Is that an arrhythmia? She's going to have to get that checked out. 

"N-Normally, right, we sit here," Parker starts, gesturing to their table.

"Riveting," MJ deadpans, but before she can turn back to her book, he is talking again. 

"No, no, so we're talking, right, and then you always, you know..." He is fumbling for words, and MJ can practically see the gears turning in that brain of his, the one that she can't understand because it somehow is only capable of seeing good. 

"Interrupt," Ned finishes. His eyes shoot open wide when MJ shoots him a glare, and then he is stammering again. "N-no, wait, it isn't exactly interrupting, I mean... You normally just sarcasm at us from over there."

"I sarcasm at you," MJ repeats, her other eyebrow shooting up to join its partner the search for her hairline. 

"From... over... there..." Ned mumbles. He looks genuinely afraid for his life. 

"Not that we mind," Parker interjects, and when MJ looks at him she is extremely grateful for the fact that she doesn't blush. If any other girl were looked at that way, with the dark, round puppy eyes, they would probably just be a puddle on the floor. How the  _hell_ was Liz immune to this kid? 

She wasn't MJ reminded herself as a pang shot through her chest. 

"Yeah, of course not," Ned fumbles. "I mean, your rants about feminism, and the Sokovia accords, and... everything..." Peter shoots him a look that says danger, and Ned quickly pushes forward. "I mean, they're the reason I'm passing history." 

"And you know more trivia about Fantasy movies than either of us combined, so it's not like we mind. But you aren't doing it today," of Parker finished.

"It's not like I care what happens in Hollywood," she mutters, looking back down at her notepad. "Celebrities are images of perfection used to entice taxpayers to give their hard-earned money over to the entertainment industry."

"Right..." Peter says slowly.

MJ stares at the both of them for a minute, and then she decides to do something incredibly stupid. 

"Tom Felton's pockets had to be sewn shut to keep him from sneaking food on-set during  _The Prisoner of Azkaban._ " 

"No way, really?" Ned chortles as he moves down to MJ's side of the table, bringing his homemade lunch with him. Peter scoots down to, leaning over on his elbow as he pops a slightly-charred cookie in his mouth. "Malfoy's my new favorite." 

"So I've heard that Rowling personally gave Evanna Lynch her role as Luna Lovegood, is that true?" Parker asks earnestly. Part of her knows that he is only trying to keep her talking. 

The other part of her doesn't care. 

The question about the actress immediately plunges them into an in-depth discussion about how the cast of Harry Potter are essentially the same people as their characters, punctuated with MJ's sarcastic quips and slightly unsure pauses when MJ plunges to an end of the current conversation, only for Peter to pick up a new one. and then lunch somehow ends way sooner than it normally does. By the time it is over, MJ has somehow accepted an invitation over to Peter's house to marathon the movies the following night, which is a Friday. 

MJ walks out of the lunchroom feeling a strange warmth in her chest. For anyone else, it might be described as a spring in their step or a glimmer in their eye. For MJ, it does not manifest in any outward manner. MJ would much prefer to keep her feelings pent up inside where they will never see the light of day. But something about this makes her feel buoyant, special. It feels almost sacred because MJ clicks so well with the pair of friends that have just been the two of them forever. 

When MJ plops down at her seat in Pre-Calculus, she pulls out the notepad to return to the untidy scrawl of notes from her conversation from the previous night. It then that her phone buzzes in her pocket, and MJ pauses. She only leaves notifications on for news alerts and text messages, and most of the time her mother is too hungover to text. So that doesn't leave anyone else, except...

MJ pulls out her phone and presses the button. 

 

> SPIDER-MAN: (1) UNREAD TEXT
> 
> meet me at steinway st and 28th tmrw. 10 pm. come alone.


End file.
